


Yesterday is but Today’s Memory (and Tomorrow is Today’s Dream)

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, Leadership, Loss, M/M, Memory, Retirement, mentoring, replacement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6773926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel doesn't want to believe that Steve is retiring. Written per reader request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yesterday is but Today’s Memory (and Tomorrow is Today’s Dream)

“Yesterday is but today’s memory, and tomorrow is today’s dream.”—Khalil Gibran

Yesterday is but Today’s Memory (and Tomorrow is Today’s Dream)

After another typical Mike Babcock torture in the guise of practice, Pavel just wanted to escape to the showers to scrub the sweat off his skin (even if he had to lose a layer of it in the process, at least he’d be clean) and rub his aching muscles. What he most definitely did not want was Mike Babcock to snake out an arm and grab his elbow as he made his way back to the locker room in a stream of teammates. 

Pulling Pavel out of the river of Red Wings, Babcock stared into Pavel’s eyes with the standard glower that suggested Pavel had disappointed him just by existing, “I want to talk to you, Pav.” 

“I listening.” Resigned to his fate, Pavel swallowed a sigh. It was probably about face-offs. With Babcock, it was always about face-offs. Priests weren’t as ardent in preaching about Christ as Babcock was in spreading the Gospel about how important face-offs were to winning hockey games. Pavel had worked on his face-offs—and not just to try to stop Babcock from nagging—but because he yearned to grow into the best hockey player he could be, but, of course, no improvement was ever enough to satisfy Babcock. At the Judgement Day, he’d probably show up red-faced and screaming about someone’s blown defensive coverage. 

Pavel was so prepared to hear another lecture about face-offs or defensive coverage that he thought his ears were malfunctioning when Babcock began, “With Stevie retiring—“ 

“What?” interrupted Pavel, convinced that he had misheard or his ears were playing a nasty prank on him, since Steve couldn't retire. He was an eternal part of the Red Wings who had been there when Pavel came over from Russia and would remain there forever, immune to the ravages of time that had claimed other great hockey players. 

“Stevie is retiring.” Babcock shot Pavel a suspicious glare, as if he were the one pulling a prank or possibly pretending to be stupid on purpose. “Surely he told you.” 

It was a declarative and not a question, but Pavel shook his head anyway. Going numb from top to toe, Pavel decided that Babcock had to be playing a prank on him—because Steve would tell him if he were going to retire—even if the idea of Babcock pranking seemed impossible since Babcock had a persona of somebody incapable of recognizing a joke even when paraded before him in a clown costume complete with flashing crimson nose. 

Ignoring Pavel’s shaking head, Babcock went on brusquely, as if he were discussing a trip to the grocery to buy more milk and eggs rather than the retirement of a franchise player, “Since he’s leaving, one of the A’s will take the C, and the team will need another A.” 

“Suppose so.” Pavel nodded. The math added up even if the fact that Babcock was telling him all this didn’t. 

“Would you want an A?” Babcock’s tone had changed—almost as if he felt he were offering Pavel a huge treat, and Pavel should be excited or flattered. 

Nibbling his lower lip, Pavel tried to steady his reeling mind. He knew that it was an honor to be offered a letter in the Red Wings’ locker room, but he felt only crushed and choked by the very idea. Wearing an A, even if someone else had donned the C, would feel too much like he was trying to replace Stevie, and nobody could ever do that, and it was probably disrespectful to even make the attempt…

“No.” Pavel lifted his chin. Realizing that sounded too rude, he added, “Thank you.” 

“Why not?” Babcock’s forehead furrowed. 

Understanding that Babcock would scoff at his resolve not to try to replace Stevie, since Babcock alone seemed to be immune to the effects of Stevie, seeing Stevie as a shadow of himself rather than a bright, never setting sun in perpetual dusk, Pavel muttered, falling back on his classic excuse of poor English, “English bad. Not good for media or in locker room.” 

“Your English is fine.” Babcock’s mouth thinned to a razor’s edge. “The only time it isn’t is when you don’t want it to be.” 

His cheeks flaming at Babcock’s words hitting too close to the mark, Pavel lowered his eyes, taking a deep and abrupt interest in the tiles, which must have been trodden over millions of times by countless Red Wings to and from thousands of games. The thought made Pavel feel small and safe, a drop in an endless ocean inexorably swept on by time, not standing apart, just fitting in forever, belonging to a legacy of players whose names did not need to be remembered. The Winged Wheel would keep spinning long after he was gone; it would just get a new spoke. 

“You don’t want to be a leader on this team?” Babcock yanked Pavel’s chin up, so their gazes locked once more. 

Determined not to flinch away from a glare that felt as if it could blind him, Pavel pointed out quietly, “Can be leader without A. That what I want do.” 

“I’ll respect that this time.” Warning as much as he was relenting, Babcock squeezed Pavel’s shoulder. “Next time I’ll push more, because you are an important part of this team, and you need to know that and take responsibility for that, Pav. Keep working on your English if that’s really what’s holding you back.” 

Feeling like he had lost when he had objectively won, Pavel watched Babcock turn on his heel and march toward his office. 

Needing Steve to tell him that Babcock had grabbed the wrong end of the stick and that the Captain was not retiring, Pavel rushed off to the locker room. Bursting into the locker room like a strong gust of wind, he ignored the stares that stuck to his spine like glue as he bolted over to Stevie’s stall, where he sank to his knees and buried his cheek in Steve’s thigh. 

“What’s wrong, Pav?” Steve’s fingers traced a tender trail along Pavel’s cheek. 

Not knowing where to begin—because his English really was useless in times of distress like these, no matter what Babcock wanted to believe on the contrary—Pavel whispered, “I talk to Coach and he say bad things. Scary things. Things I no want think true.” 

“What things, kid?” Steve’s thumb circled the bow of Pavel’s jaw, and Pavel couldn’t prevent tears from trickling out of his eyes as it occurred to him that this might be one of the last times that Steve touched him like this. 

“That you leaving.” Without being cognizant of what he was doing, Pavel was clinging to Steve’s knee, as if he believed on a primal level that if he held on to Steve tight enough, he would never have to let Steve go. 

“I’m retiring from playing.” Steve swept the damp hair away from Pavel’s sweaty forehead and brushed a kiss over the soft skin hidden beneath the bangs. “Not retiring from being a part of this organization. I’ll still be around to support you.” 

“Why you have to retire, Stevie?” Pavel’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at his captain. 

“Because it’s your time to take over.” Steve massaged the nape of Pavel’s neck. 

“That what Coach say.” Pavel scowled, because it seemed flimsy logic that Steve would have to leave just so Pavel could take over when Pavel didn’t even want to wear an A. “I tell him I no want A.” 

“You told him you didn’t want an A?” Steve sounded disapproving, and Pavel, hating to disappoint Steve, cringed. 

“Not meant to be leader.” Pavel prayed for Steve to understand that he wasn’t made to be a leader, just a humble follower. “Too quiet.” 

“Quiet leaders can be the best ones.” Steve was silent for a moment, letting Pavel mull that over, before he continued, “We need you to be a leader on this team, because it’s your time to be that, just as it’s my time to retire.” 

“How you know it your time to retire?” Pavel cocked his head inquisitively up at Steve. 

“I feel it in my bones.” Steve patted the knee Pavel wasn’t using as a pillow. “You won’t understand what I mean until you get the feeling yourself, but when you get it, it will be strong and undeniable. When it comes, you’ll know that you have to hang them up and let some new kids take over.” 

“What if the new kids aren’t ready to take over?” Pavel didn’t know what compelled him to pose such a question when his retirement felt as distant as the apocalypse. “Would it be selfish for me to retire then?” 

“No.” Steve rubbed figure-eights into Pavel’s back. “When you get that feeling in your bones, it’s your body telling you that you can’t play hockey at a high level anymore, no matter how much you want to, so, if you get that feeling, you’ll be more of a hindrance than a help to your team. At that point, you’re being selfish and holding onto your career at the expense of your team just because you can’t bear to hang your skates up. Holding onto what you love too long or too hard will just destroy what you love, breaking your heart in the process. If you love something you let it go, so you can preserve the memory of it as it should be.”


End file.
